Survivor's Club
by Peridot-Plath
Summary: Iris has problems: dysfunctional family, her grades her weight her social life--or lack of.
1. Default Chapter

"_Cadence's Room"_

The sign proclaims in ornately curled letters, extravagantly lauded with many snaking curlicues, particularly the 'C' which had been coloured in soaring rainbow streaks, now a little faded from a few years of constant exposure to the sunlight that crept in every day through the window on the landing of the second (and highest) floor of the house.

And it's just that: Cadence's room, she has always been proud of her name, her identity: school books and other belongings made of paper (and some that aren't as well, like her mug --- the one she uses for gargling.)

She favours the 'C' if her 'territorial markings' are any indication, C,C,C,C,C… it consistently wins the contest for most curlicues, flowers, pawprints….

When she was younger she ever did mention this to me when I was learning the alphabet to avoid the kindergarten teacher's wrath the following day if I neglected to review this _homework._ 'C''s my favourite. It's my letter you know, C for Cadence, she'd said that day. In which case my letter is I, for Iris, but I knew it couldn't be, I is everyone's letter, so I'm different, I've known it since then, and yet I'm exactly the same as the last person, like one mass-produced girl out of millions. All faceless.

I'm a nobody. And that's that.

1st Sept 2004

Dear diary,

I'm back at school! I nearly missed that fiendish scarlet contraption, it was just about to leave when the taxi pulled in screeching and almost skidding at the station.

I swear, that driver took a longer route than necessary, I would have liked to swear at him, no really as in _swear_, fuck and shit and the old favourites, all four-letter words and single syllable. Very suitable for shooting idiots down with. And on a more practical note flounce out of the cab snubbing him and not paying either, I didn't, but I'd've liked to that's for sure. Still he was a wizened-old-man type and I felt sorry for him in a way. And anyhow he looked like the sort to call the cops on me so I daren't do anything not strictly law-abiding.

Well the Hogwarts Express was about to pull out just as I dashed through the barrier, I think that was the most athletic thing I've ever done in my life. Pity I was in no mood to enjoy it .Or in the right frame of mind---sane.

Here's a little detail I'll record, it will be conveniently edited out in future recounts, but just in case I become famous---a genius maybe, and need some pathetic little deed to detail to the populace to comfort girls like me. I was crying because I thought I'd miss the train and I'd have to mope around in my suburban home and live out 365 days of endless drear and shadow (and shouting and fights and fits ).

All the compartments were already inhabited (by scum and algae that grows in rarely cleaned toilets, well, actually no, but you understand, and that girl with a blonde plait, or Miss Bouncy Pigtails and short Gryffindor fellow or you-know-that-boy–with-the-freckles-and-carroty-hair. Suchlike.)

Then I saw the Save-the-World-for-Us-Friggin-Ordinarians. They get to have all the fun all the luck all the teenage acne. Well no, not the last one, except maybe Ron---I know his name. so does the whole world. You know he has the queerest looking smattering of freckles, from afar he looks like he's got volcanoes all over his face. Charmed. H.P.'s got perfect skin because his father had it and because it isn't fitting for a quidditch hero to look pimply like the rest of the world. Hermione g. is blessed with porcelain skin because she's in reality so beautiful it makes my heart ache to look at her (it aches out of self-pity), pretty, I know because she finally let this revelation be known during the Yule Ball, 4th year, it's all in history. You can check it.

Being most undeniably plain has it's (rather scanty) advantages, you develop a heart and stomach for sympathy as large as 10 football fields. I know why lone ladies love Bridget Jones---it restores hope, (you know, if I just spruce up _a teeny weeny little _bit, I'll look like Renee Zellweger. Aaah, the never-to-be-realized-dreams of a nobody.

Quite honestly, I'm not truly that skeptical of them, (it'd trash my social life if I publicly aired such leftist opinions) it completely beats up my poor already-tortured-to-death dignity to admit, but a diary is made and bound to be sold to unwitting consumers (sheep, yes, sheep), to spill unto all their most private confessions---at absolutely no risk of having the inner depths of the sore and weary heart be dealt with disgraceful public floggings (you need pimple cream?!) . I was pretty excited to see them, I mean Harry Potter! I just couldn't believe it at our first sorting. He's so lucky: _different _and just profound in a way, such a personal history!

I guess I just wanted to be friends but it would be so stupid to waltz in and introduce myself---too brash. I missed my chance then, or I might even have had a chance to be a someone, someone who means more than a string of alphabets arranged in

a pronounceable, practical way. Too bad. Oh, life's little mishaps.

Lisa (Turpin, of course, there's only one Lisa in Ravenclaw), rattled on about some movie she'd rented at the video rentals, A walk to remember. I don't remember hearing anything about it, I suppose it just wasn't exactly the blockbuster of the season, then I was reminded of a most unflattering picture of Mandy Moore I saw in which she had orange skin, when Lisa mentioned Many Moore starred in it.

The only thing I was anywhere near interested in the movie was the fact that there was a prank gone horribly wrong and a kid ended up with a spinal injury, I perked up then, what kind of injury? Was he paralysed for life from neck down ? that'd be terrible! (I have a rogue morbid streak, I can't help it) Lisa said no! no! that's not important! It's really sweet you know! There's the part when they fall in love and it's just so---

She stopped then and started off again like a broken record " oh! Sorry,sorry,sorry,so-orree! Is it uncomfortable! Oh! I'm sooo sorry!" as she scraped away at my lap. You see, she'd just upset the plate of treacle I'd been spooning away morosely (and sinfully, I'm on a sugar-free kind of diet now, Cadence helped me, but since she isn't here and all…) at and it had the audacity to land on my lap and not the floor (or on the snotty blonde-curls-2nd year next to me). It felt terribly clammy and sticky---it felt so nice and squishy in my mouth. Still, the mouth and the lap are very different places after all.

When I finally stumbled back to the dorms (stumbling because I was trying to hide the squelchy stain---could lead to funny questions /16 and you can't _eat _properly?/

I unpacked and _then_ I found that I hadn't packed my nicest carnation print pajamas or my knitted sweatshirt _I only have **one**_.

I was so awfully tired so I wore the staid pin-striped ones (green---isn't that unusual, always blue never _green_),slipped into the covers. Or rather, all of this should be in present tense because that is just where I am now, in bed in green pin-stripes. But I don't want to cancel this out, it'd look so messy---oh, never mind it.

_Whisk me away nighttime. So many falling layers._

Iris.


	2. Back Issues of The Diary

Back Issues of The Diary

Sooo, Dumbledore's idea of ultra-hip-prom-style glamour in order to show off to Beauxie and That-Other-Much-Evil-Snobbery-Place is to hold a Yule Ball, sophistication guaranteed: 4th years and older only. How exclusive! How delightful! How politically incorrect! This is age-discrimination, people!!!

And I need dress robes.

Well, yes, actually they did inform at the beginning o0f the year… but dad was in a bad mood when I told him---yeesss, my fault really. Note to self: when dad goes fuck fuck fuck, bloody bloody _insert much worse things I will not mention for fear dorm-mates shall read and report me for my **most vulgar mouth and will subsequentlyresult in being expelled. **_

(actually that wouldn't be _too_ bad, right?)

note to self, _again_: don't think that way. Don't want to money-less and old and forced to work as labourer and not making pots of money elsewhere.

Hmmm.

Dad shouted at me not to waste money and so I had to grab an old dress to cut and make my own robes. _They said dress robes compulsory. Not my fault dad hears and sees selectively. I was so frightened I didn't dare to remind him when he felt better._

The only dress I could find that wasn't made of gray flannel---gray_-looking_ flannel. It's so old it looks gray---geddit? Well, the only dress I _could_ find ---thankfully--- was white organdy, I thought about it and decided I'd be able to fashion something a bit like a poncho with sleeves and a bow about the waist so I wouldn't look like one of those pregnant high schoolers.

And, half-way through my seamstressy tough-laboury-slave-work, I stumbled upon a ground revelation.

The stupid thing was too small to even make the top half of the costume.

All gone to waste.

It was only after this that I realized I had worn it when I was six and then at age 8, when I dug it up for auntie Whatsit's funeral/wedding---can't remember, there were a lot of people cring and it happened in a church---hmmm, that was when I first learned that it was too difficult to even pull over my head.

Anyway, it looked stupid, I used blue wool because that was all we had and it looked tortured. And yes, now I recall some other details, in and effort to make it look haute coutre and sort-of I-meant-to-have-it-that-way-punky-stylish, well, I'd sewn on a cut-out

Chanel label. I didn't think a Chanel spokesman would be present anyhow, so I wouldn't get sued.

Didn't work.

I think I might tack on some lace on my school robes and wear a borrowed table-runner for a shawl to cover up the house colours.

Or I could simply borrow some quidditch robes from a team player. I think I favour red.

Oh fuck, anything for a chance to talk to _(wheedle into letting me join Trio) _Harry Potter.

I'm so hopeless.

_-ly stupid.__ Dumb. Inane _

_any__ suggestions please??_

_Iris.M_

The Yule Ball draws near…

Oddly enough that doesn't _quite_ have that certain ring, you know **_DOOM! DOOM!_**

Unfair. It really does, _if you're me_.

Well, yes, I _have_ got those dress robes, and they're stupid dinky things. Still I suppose I'm to blame.

I'm so absolutely _inane_ sometimes, it frustrates me, pity I can't help it.

It happened at that shop. You know the robe-buying place. No, not malkin's some other place. There was this kid at the shop, just behind us and he was all springy and _eager_ to look like some kind of vicar, parish, whatnot.

Yeah, ,he was all psyched up to get those black velvet curtains, with lace sewn on to the cuffs to disguise its cloudy and un-high-society-fashion roots.

And I had to be the one, to choose them—just to be contrary. Oh sooo contrary. And maybe to spite father too.

No. that's a lie, I would never. I'm like a little puppy, he's great a great man really. Can you imagine the power he holds, Dark Lord's minion, yes, he's good at it, it's natural, it's the intelligent sensible thing to do.

World's going to end someday sometime anyway. No matter what you do.

Why not be in power when it happens? I don't want to be on the wrong end of The Curse—any of the three worst actually—when the universe folds over and swallows us all.

Let's not digress further. I haven't got a date yet. What shall I do? It's just so trivial and stupid.

Ahh. Let's ask Pansy.

Here she comes. Uurgh . ringlets should be made illegal on anyone over the quite innocent, cute-sy fluffy-skirt age of six.

_bounce__ bounce bounce_

pity she's the only one who'll have me. Too bad then.

At least I'm not **_CCC_**, yes; Chunky Chipmunk Chick.

Draco M.

OK. Time to get defensive. Draco offered to take me to the Yule Ball.

I agreed. I hardly know him—but he's alright I suppose. We get along well enough. And I suppose I'm in no position to be a total DIVA.

I wish I were a D.I.V.A. though, get it: Deadly Inclined _to be_ Vicious Assasin.

Fuck. Yeah, FUCK!!!

Cos' I don't have the FUCKIN' time to worry about the FUCKIN' Yule Ball.

Dad's remarrying.

Remarrying Mauretta!!!

Momma oh! Momma! If you're in heaven you'll hear this! I'm so sad! Dad! That SLUT!!!

Momma, dad's so hostile now, he used to be so…so _gentle_. I was the no. 1 girl!!! Now he screams, I wish he'd hit me like he promises!!! Then I could show them those scars.

But deep inside I know I'd never. I still love him. I hope that inside he's still the same man, I could _never._

_When he shouts, I'm screaming inside **like I'm being murdered**_

Say that again fast—be calm—breathe. **_likeI'mbeingmurdered_**

Alright. It's cool.

Yeah.

_I dream._

_I dream and I hope._

Just wanna get OD-ed. Maybe Malfoy has some.

Nope—he's just a little boy trapped in a perfect life.

Pansy P.

_D.I.V.A._

Cho Chang: _Cedric's taking me._

_He is. I have to convince myself. Sweet. _


End file.
